About The Living
I wonder if when I go
rooting around in my memory,
if I annoy the dead
by thinking of them again.
I go through scenarios
where they grow like plants from the ground
or arrive like a stray dog
or fall back into life-like rain.
Once I took my vacation
to visit the exact location
the dead were last living
expecting an ethereal portal to be there.
Bloody rural New Mexico highway intersection.
Room 412 at a Denver hospital.
Outside a gay bar in Milwaukee.
And so on across the country.
Maybe the dead should get pissed at me.
Ghostly sleeping dogs.
Wraith thin white paper sheets.
Poems only about the living.
copyright © 2020 Kenneth P. Gurney
Happy New Year to all. And to all a bite of dark chocolate.
Love & Light.